


not quite two

by kalypsobean



Category: Other Boleyn Girl - Philippa Gregory
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, F/M, Incest, Masturbation, Rough Oral Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they don't need anything between them because they are part of each other's whole</p>
            </blockquote>





	not quite two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgrrl/gifts).



It can be so perfect and she can reach despair with a single word or a misplaced touch; that is what it is to be married to the King. Everything is headier, more pure, more tainted, and though she had planned for this, prepared and fought and sacrificed, it isn't enough. She sits as if alone, surrounded by gossip and schemes and power that ebbs and flows depending on Henry's mood and the day of the week and what is for supper.

He doesn't ask for her to attend his rooms anymore.

 

She sits alone in the evenings because few will come near her; the Catholics hate her and the Protestants are scared not to love her, which is the same as saying they hate her for all that she can rely on them. She is utterly alone; her sister all but in exile and her friends able to be bought or swayed with the promise of a good match or political influence or land.

 

He sneaks in when he's sure she won't be called to Henry's rooms; there is still propriety to be obeyed even though they are blood, and the Queen's issue cannot be questioned, as tenuous as their hold on the crown would be. It is all calculated and carefully laid out; the only chance is left to her body, which betrays her at each step, her only weakness.

He doesn't care; he makes her strong, in the way he holds her as she cries, sometimes for no reason. He distracts her with cards and poems and games; he is her eyes and ears where women are not allowed to go, he is her rock and the only one who tells the truth with his heart and not his lips. They are two pawns who fit together to make a whole, jagged and uneven though the join be.

 

It progresses easily as a first love; she lies back and he lifts her skirts, he touches her in the way that she likes but none other has given a care for, and he leaves her when the sweat has cooled and they have lain in each other's arms for hours, not even talking because there is nothing to say, and no sound must leave the room in case word gets around that the Queen does not sleep alone. It is her position that allows him his free movement at court and secures their family's position; talk would not do at all.

Yet, in their silence, she finds things to relish; things which she keeps close to her heart and relishes with a childish glee when they cross her mind, secrets that she tells to no one. There is excitement in the gentle, almost reverent way that he touched her breasts that first time, the way that he lifted them in his hands and dragged his thumbs over her nipples, and the way he suckled them voraciously until she could barely hold from giggling. The pressure of her corset against her waist reminds her of his hands on her, exploring her curves and her belly, even as it was distended and ugly during the time she recovered from her seclusion, another stillbirth weighing on her mind. He reminded her of her perfection, then, providing comfort she didn't know she needed and that came from nowhere else. 

She sometimes has to part her legs and lift her hips at the dining table, shifting uncomfortably as if turning her attention to a conversation at her side to disguise the wetness that comes from seeing him laugh.

 

It is when things grow darker that he comes to her more often, shedding societal expectations like an exotic reptile because she needs him. He frees her from being expected to behave, expected to be Queen and to be as enchanting and delightful and ruthless as she was as a maiden, still ignorant of the cost that her father's ambition would have when it caught her in its hereditary net. He comes to her and he tells her to strip, to take off everything that marks her as a lady of position and breeding and power and tells her to kneel. He takes from her, the same as everyone else does, but he gives it back. He holds her hair and expects her to swallow his seed in her mouth, and then he touches her and kisses her until she forgets that it's the only way that she can have him, because even he won't compromise her like that.

But then he holds her throat with one hand and uses his fingers in her with the other, and she would cry out but for the pressure there, because he uses her in a way that is rough and perfunctory, yet so pleasurable that her body responds; her hips move almost their own accord and a warmth spreads through her that is followed by an awareness of the cold wind coming in through the window with broken shutters that nobody will fix. He doesn't stop even when she is sated and lays still, her legs too unsteady for her to walk on and her head as light as a feather. She thinks she can feel his fingers moving in her, and then it happens again, not as strong or overwhelming as the first time, but still; he lets her go and she feels bereft, empty, until he lies beside her, as close as he dares, and lets her feel him. He is warm, despite the breeze that she is so aware of, and she reaches down; he catches her hands in his and holds them as he moves against her, leisurely, slow, until she is driven mad and, as if possessed, she speaks _do it_ and he does; he had made her ready for him, free of all burdens but this one that he asked of her, and he takes what she freely gives.

 

She cries, after, and he holds her; he pulls a blanket over her for the wind and he lets her be, giving back yet again because in everything, she knows that even though he knows, he understands, he is the same, she is Queen and he does not dare deny her anything she desires. They have both lost something in this; they have both gained, but it has cost them, and it will always cost them.

She will deny him and he will take from her and that is their penance for what they have done.


End file.
